


Baseball and Other Sundry Pastimes

by thelxinoes



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Generally Questionable Behavior, M/M, Romance, Suffering, Work Issues, lots of f-bombs, rated M for Fushimi's mouth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 17:14:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12194229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelxinoes/pseuds/thelxinoes
Summary: In which Fushimi Saruhiko works harder than anyone else, and suffers for it. Greatly.





	Baseball and Other Sundry Pastimes

**Author's Note:**

> So, I finally decided to post my K stuff here. I won't migrate all of my tumblr fics, but I will start posting new K fics. I haven't written anything at this word count in a long, long time -- kindness and constructive critique is always appreciated.

Fushimi Saruhiko was not fearful, though he was many things – cunning, vicious, spiteful, sociopathic, and traitorous, just to name a few. But cravenness, fear? These emotions were thankfully unknown to him.

Unknown, that is, until he found himself before sharp lilac boring into him from across Munakata’s ornate wooden desk. His King looked every inch a tyrant, now, as strange and wrongfooted as that seemed.

Munakata Reisi, for his part, was not demonstrative, though he too was many things – manipulative, ruthless, aloof, pedantic, and downright odd, just to name a few. Displaying his emotions like some sort of melodramatic novice? That was a foreign experience.

Foreign, until he found himself practically glaring at his favorite subordinate, who seemed (uncharacteristically) to wilt in place, no insubordinate click of the tongue, no deadpan comments about the futility of the world.

“Explain,” the Blue King breathed, slow and commanding. He did not trust himself to speak properly, lest he betray how utterly, unprecedentedly  _amused_ he was. It was rare that Fushimi-kun displayed any sort of deference, or indeed, emotion at all. Reisi planned on enjoying the youth’s discomfort while it lasted.

Fushimi sighed, shoulders drooping as though Atlas carried lighter burdens. “It’s all Misaki’s fault…”

.

.

.

It had all started several weeks ago. Fushimi had completed his work and that of three of his colleagues before deciding to go for a walk. The weather had been spectacular all week – cool and breezy, a damn relief if you were confined to Scepter 4 uniforms all day.

 _I think Captain gets off on making us look like a cosplay troupe,_ the youth grumbled to himself.  _It’s so impractical to be wearing this shit in the Shizume heat. The only reason you’d do it is if you’re channeling Fullmetal Alchemist or some other crap._

Fushimi sighed.  _Who let that weird fuck gain this kind of power anyway? Sometimes I wonder if we don’t have as many idiots as Ho—_

And then he stopped short, because all his meandering had brought him to a park just across the street from the bar in question.

_Fuck._

He hadn’t meant to travel in this direction. Not really. He was merely going to walk through the city’s Administrative Center for a few minutes before heading back to barracks. After his extraordinarily taxing work day, he could do with some sleep. But minutes turned into hours and now here he was, staring down his old stomping grounds while dusk played pink along the city’s skyscape.

“Over here, Anna!”

Whipping his head towards the direction of that boisterous, uncaring voice, Fushimi sighed again.  _Misaki._

Apparently Homra had overrun the park. From what Fushimi could gather, they were enjoying a game of baseball, and the auburn-headed vanguard was playing catcher to Anna’s pitcher. Kusanagi was at bat, making a show of knocking the dirt off his shoes like they did in the professional leagues.

Anna’s pitch fell short – of course it did, but Kusanagi nevertheless ran forward as though making an attempt to swing it out of the park. He failed, contorting and twisting himself to try to get the hit. It was all for show, naturally, to ensure the Red Princess that her participation in the game was a help and not a hindrance to her team.

“Strike,” Eric called, incredulity seeping into his voice. “And really, Kusanagi-san, what the hell was that?”

The blond lieutenant merely shrugged and squared himself up for another pitch. He nodded to Anna and narrowed his eyes, “You won’t get this one past me. It’s on.”

 _What nonsense,_ Fushimi thought.  _She knows you’re letting her win. She’s smarter than the lot of you dumbasses._

Yet still, the smile on Anna’s face made him feel as though perhaps illusion was just as valuable as reality sometimes, especially if it hinted at truths that ran deeper than the real – deep like old scars that wouldn’t heal, deep like Homra’s bonds, maybe.

Feeling somewhat embarrassed, the youth turned away, the blight on his shoulder itching and burning.

He was about to head back and take a train to HQ when he saw it – the unmistakable blue of Scepter 4’s insufferable uniform, flapping out of sight and into Homra’s front entrance while Suoh Mikoto followed close behind.

And Fushimi, whose soujourns outside the Scepter 4 compound had been largely aimless (yes, following Misaki was an aimless endeavor), had now found a new purpose.

.

.

. 

Maybe he shouldn’t be tailing his own Captain. Maybe. But Fushimi had never cared for rules and pomp and circumstance. It was one of the reasons he chafed under said Captain’s overbearing nature. It was also one of the many things about Scepter 4 that annoyed him to no end.

 _Still better than being subject to someone with no purpose at all._ And truly, that had been the thought that prompted these little reconnaissance missions. Because no one knew quite like the dark-haired intelligence specialist that the Red King was lazy beyond measure and unforgivably useless in any strategic planning. Suoh’s refusal to  _lead_ had been one of the major reasons Saruhiko left Homra. But of course, you couldn’t tell a certain loud-mouthed piece of shit that their King was a moron who couldn’t do anything but sleep all day. Blind loyalty was blind for a reason, after all.

As a result of his keen appraisal of Mikoto-san’s nature, he was exceedingly invested in why his own King would want to meet with the barbaric layabout. After all, if Scepter 4 were to become entangled in a cross-Clan alliance, it would only make more work for Fushimi. And since Munakata never seemed to care about his Third’s workload, Fushimi himself would have to compel that concern.

So, it was all for the good of the Clan, he reasoned as he dipped into a fashionable yet secluded restaurant on the outskirts of the city. It was certainly not about learning secret high-level information he could hold over Misaki. Not at all. 

He’d followed Munakata from HQ. Unfortunately, his King had not deigned to wear his oh-so-obvious uniform tonight, trading its striking appearance for a slim-fitting, understated charcoal suit. This might have been a problem for the rest of the idiots under his command, since Captain could easily blend into a crowd of tired salarymen with such a sartorial choice, but not Fushimi. Oh no, Fushimi had marked the fluid elegance with which Munakata moved, and so had little trouble tailing him – at a distance that disallowed the man to sense the presence of another Blue Aura, of course. Fushimi wasn’t stupid.

He slinked past the hostess stand, looking for all the world like a surly patron who had been summoned here on some ill errand. The fact that he’d shed his overcoat and buttoned his shirt close against his throat added to the illusion of moderately affluent and rather affected diner. The restaurant was an upscale kaiseki place, with dark wood and rice paper screens designed to offer a mere modicum of privacy to its guests. Hardly a venue suited to classified business.

 _Captain can be so clueless sometimes,_ Fushimi seethed in frustration.  _Talking with an enemy King here, in public._

The table he selected was on the opposite side of a screen from his two marks. He had shrunk himself down, low enough to stroll past the wooden paneling unseen so that he could take a seat right next to the unaware Kings.

“You look great.” Suoh Mikoto’s voice sounded rougher somehow, a strange purring inflecting his cadence. “You should ditch the uniform more often.”

Munakata merely chuckled in that supremely amused manner of his, “And here I thought I’d get to see  _you_  in formalwear tonight, Suoh. This is a very exclusive restaurant, you know.”

 _Are they_ flirting? Fushimi nearly choked on the bile rising in his throat.  _Gross._ But then, he’d been well aware of his King’s proclivities to turn everyday comments into teases. The man just oozed provocation, really, so this was probably Munakata being Munakata, as insufferable as that was.  _What an irritating clown; I don’t know how Mikoto-san isn’t incinerating him._

“Izumo stopped letting me borrow his suits when I accidentally burned a hole in one,” the Red King replied, tenor nonchalant, easy –  _nothing_ like his manner when he’s being a right pain in Scepter 4’s ass. Indeed, this was not the unconcealed disgust Suoh Mikoto threw at the Blue King during their typical encounters; this was almost  _affectionate._

Fushimi grimaced in revulsion. Or pain. He was having trouble distinguishing which.

“Well, I suppose I too prefer that you keep your hands elsewhere and off my clothes.”

 _What the ever-loving fuck_? Where had Munakata learned to drop his voice like  _that_? That timbre sent a jolt of electricity down the young man’s spine, rather like he’d been hit by his own Blue Aura. And what the hell was up with this weird-ass seduction game going on between these two dolts? What sort of inter-Clan negotiation was this? Is this simply Suoh Mikoto being accustomed to Munakata Reisi’s eccentricities? He’d never known Mikoto-san to be particularly indulgent, especially of his Blue counterpart. The surreal quality of the conversation made Fushimi’s head ache. 

 _You know what, fuck it,_ he decided. Work-related or not, he didn’t have to subject himself to this… this…  _fuckery_. Fuckery is what it was, and the youth was absolutely done with it. Munakata may love his fucked-up little games, and this was clearly one of them, but Saruhiko hadn’t signed up for this. Not by a long shot. What does he care if this ends in a brawl? He’s no longer on the clock.

He slipped out before he got sick all over the priceless woodblock scroll decorating his side of the partition.

.

.

. 

Now, the third time he happened upon Suoh Mikoto and Munakata Reisi alone together, it was not Fushimi’s fault. Truly. He had stopped trying to figure out what sort of clusterfuck of a gameplan those two were concocting. After all, without his own strategic expertise, it was bound to go ass over foot, so doubtless, he’d get called in to do damage control.

He  _had_ hoped to influence its inception so there would be no need for damage control, but you can’t win them all, apparently. Not when one of the Kings involved is a teasing, smirking fool and the other a lazy, destructive asshole.   
  
Even so, you could take opportunity when it presented itself, and so when he saw Suoh Mikoto surreptitiously knocking on his supervisor’s door, he forgot all about getting the Captain’s signature on the latest set of requisitions documents and steeled himself for what would no doubt be a deeply uncomfortable conversation.

Fushimi crouched low, unfurling a tiny surveillance recorder from his uniform pocket and sliding the listening end under the King’s door. He stayed ever-prepared for such eventualities; it’s what made him an especially dangerous and successful tactician.

“….took ya the whole week to call.” That was Suoh Mikoto, a hint of frustration in his voice. “Was gettin’ impatient, ya know.”

“Suoh, you are perpetually impatient,” Munakata huffed. “Unlike you, however, I have real work to which I must attend. I cannot sleep all day like some spoiled, overgrown housecat.”

 _Right?_ Fushimi silently approved.  _Mikoto-san was the worst for that._

“Oh? Seems like you got no problem sleepin’ in when—”

And then the door burst open, sending Fushimi sprawling across the hallway in a mess of lanky limbs and disheveled clothing. The Red King looked down on him, one hand on the door handle and the other sliding through his messy scarlet hair. His face was a mask of indifference and boredom. “Huh. Thought I felt someone there…” he muttered. “Felt someone on us before too,” he added, turning his attention to Munakata. “Guess this guy’s been following us for a while.”

 _Oh, fuck me,_ Fushimi panicked. In his haste to save the city from these two bastards, he’d forgotten that opposing Auras were much easier to fight, and to sense as well. He'd been over-taxing his Blue lately (thanks to Misaki). Naturally Mikoto-san would have felt him near.

“Fushimi-kun, it’s well past curfew,” the Blue King intoned, glasses flashing in that ominous way of theirs. Unlike Suoh Mikoto, he did  _not_ wear a mask of indifference. “I know you make a habit of working late, but surely,  _this_ is above and beyond the call of duty?”

.

.

. 

And that’s how Fushimi Saruhiko, favorite plaything of the immeasurably fucked-up Universe ended up in his King’s office, surely about to be dressed down for spying on those who outranked him.

Munakata’s clipped command to explain still resounding in his ears, the young man recounted the whole sordid business, beginning with his aimless trip to Homra. He left out his repulsed reaction to his boss’ attempted flirting of course, but apart from that, he believed he was quite clear about his motivations.

“Fushimi-kun, I am attempting to understand,” the Blue King said, steepling his hands atop his desk. “But even one as perspicacious as I cannot comprehend why you would believe that any such  _conspiracy_ between the Red and Blue Clans would exclude you. As you must know, I rely on both your brilliance and your strategic capabilities, so I am quite at a loss.”

Not an admonishment, not really. No, this was Munakata Reisi imparting upon his third-in-command how important he was. “Boss, I—”

“I’m not finished, Fushimi-kun,” the Blue King interrupted, hand held up. “More than your professional capabilities, I value you as an individual and I trust you with my life. So, I must ask: do you not, then, trust me with yours?”

God, he  _hated_ his smug, self-important bastard of a King sometimes. He hated his stupid lectures about order and discipline. He hated the man’s obsession with uniform and ostentation. He hated the moron’s childish love of games and tricks, and damn it all, he  _really_ hated how he could cut to the quick of any situation, could strike marrow clean and sharp, like the edge of his sabre, like Fushimi’s knives.

In fact, Munakata didn’t even look angry anymore. He appeared deeply amused, as though he’d just laid bare all the secrets of the universe and managed to warm the cockles of Fushimi’s heart while at it. Honestly, the guy got off too hard on his “teamwork and camaraderie” spiels. Sometimes, Scepter 4 was just as shitty as Homra.

In response to the sheer hate welling up in his chest, the young man replied in the only way he could. He clicked his tongue before shifting his gaze off his Captain.

“Very good, Fushimi-kun,” Munakta continued as though he’d not just been slighted by a subordinate. “Please refrain from surveilling your own King, then.”

He nodded and turned on his heel, slinking towards the door in abject mortification.  _How humiliating… and infuriating._ Well, at least he’d escaped any sort of punishment. Dish duty wouldn’t be so bad, since Kamo was a rather quiet companion. But if he were relegated to garbage detail with Domoyoji again….

“Oh, and Fushimi-kun?”

He glanced back at Munakata as he turned the doorknob, swallowing hard.  _This is it_ , he thought.  _It’s going to be floors with Fuse, then_.

“I should like to satisfy the curiosity which prompted you to spy on Suoh and I.” A beaming smile, complete with crinkled eyes and a jaunty cant of the head. “We’re dating, in fact.”

So, it was another one of the King’s games all along – making the young man feel as though he were about to be reprimanded only to be showered with praise and reassurance instead. His life would be so much easier if Munakata would just give direct compliments instead of turning every encounter into some cheesy afterschool special. 

Fushimi realized then that working for the Blue King was tantamount to entering the lowest circle of hell. And there was no escape.  _Oh well,_ he thought, ambling to his post,  _could be worse. At least we don’t play Clan baseball._


End file.
